Chapter 5 - The Ordinary Man
Daniel Brennan was not difficult to find once Marco stopped searching for a mystery and started searching for a person.
The process still took time.
Rose gave him fragments.
Daniel had attended high school in Connecticut.
Margaret Brennan’s husband had worked for an insurance company.
Daniel had studied history.
Elena’s clippings filled the gaps.
A college program.
A wedding announcement.
An old newspaper article about a teacher receiving an award.
Marco followed each piece carefully.
Three days later, he found Daniel Brennan listed on the faculty page of West Hartford High School.
History Department.
Fifty-four.
Photograph.
Marco stared at the screen.
Daniel had Elena’s eyes.
Not exactly.
Age had changed them.
But the shape was there.
Marco printed the page.
Then he did nothing for two days.
He told himself he was busy.
That was a lie.
He was afraid.
Not of Daniel.
Of the possibility that Elena had been right.
Marco knew how his presence affected people.
A dark car.
A tailored coat.
The DeLuca name.
Even when he did nothing, history walked into rooms before him.
What would Daniel hear when Marco said, “I’m your brother”?
Family?
Or trouble?
On Friday afternoon, Marco drove to Connecticut.
He parked across from the school.
At three-thirty, teachers began leaving.
Marco recognized Daniel immediately.
He was taller than Marco expected.
Gray at the temples.
Brown jacket.
Messenger bag over one shoulder.
Daniel stopped near a group of students and listened while one boy spoke with the exaggerated intensity of someone defending an argument he had probably lost.
Daniel laughed.
Then he pointed toward the building, said something, and the students groaned.
Marco watched.
Nothing dramatic happened.
That was what affected him.
Daniel got into a ten-year-old Subaru.
Marco almost laughed.
The hidden son of Elena DeLuca drove a Subaru with a dent near the rear bumper.
Marco followed him at a distance.
Daniel stopped at a grocery store.
Bought milk.
Bread.
Dog food.
Then drove home to a modest two-story house on a quiet street.
A yellow Labrador met him at the door.
Marco stayed in the car.
Daniel’s wife came outside five minutes later holding a mug.
Daniel kissed her cheek.
They talked.
The dog barked at something in the yard.
This was the life Elena had protected.
No family men waiting outside.
No whispered names.
No reputation arriving before him.
Just a dented Subaru.
Groceries.
A wife.
A dog.
Marco suddenly understood why his mother had been afraid of him finding Daniel.
Because Marco could change the temperature of this life simply by stepping onto the porch.
He drove back to Providence without getting out of the car.
The next day, Rose looked at him across her knitting.
“You found him.”
Marco nodded.
“And?”
“I left.”
Rose smiled.
“That must have hurt.”
“Why?”
“You don’t strike me as a man who enjoys walking away from answers.”
Marco sat.
“He looked happy.”
“That was the point.”
Marco looked at Rose.
“You think Elena was right.”
“I think she was nineteen.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is the only fair one.”
Rose set down the yarn.
“At nineteen, she believed there was one door out of a burning house. Maybe there were three. Maybe ten.”
She shrugged.
“But she saw one.”
Marco looked toward Elena’s room.
“What would you have done?”
Rose thought about it.
“I would like to tell you I would have been wiser.”
She smiled sadly.
“I wasn’t.”
Marco stayed quiet.
Rose continued.
“I helped because I believed Elena. I also believed my sister would be a wonderful mother.”
“Was she?”
“Yes.”
“Did Daniel have a good childhood?”
“Yes.”
“You know that.”
“I visited until Margaret moved farther away.”
Rose’s eyes softened.
“He was funny. Stubborn. Hated peas. Loved dinosaurs.”
Marco smiled despite himself.
“Anything like Elena?”
“Everything like Elena.”
That hurt and comforted him at once.
Marco visited his mother next.
“I found him.”
Elena went still.
He saw fear immediately.
“I didn’t speak to him.”
Relief.
Then guilt for feeling relieved.
Marco noticed both.
“He teaches history.”
Elena nodded.
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“I found the faculty page three years ago.”
Marco almost laughed.
“Of course you did.”
“He looks older.”
“He is fifty-four.”
“I know.”
“He has a dog.”
Elena smiled.
“What kind?”
“Yellow Lab.”
Her smile widened for one second.
Marco had not seen that expression in years.
“He looked happy, Ma.”
Elena lowered her eyes.
“Good.”
“That’s all?”
“What else should I say?”
“I don’t know.”
Elena looked out the window.
“Good is enough.”
Marco sat beside her.
“I’m going back.”
She closed her eyes.
“I thought you would.”
“I’m giving him the letter.”
Elena’s fingers tightened.
“You don’t have to.”
“No.”
Marco looked at her.
“But I think he deserves the choice you never gave him.”
Elena flinched.
Marco regretted the sharpness.
Not the truth.
“I know,” she said.
He drove to Connecticut again on Monday.
This time he waited until evening.
Daniel came outside carrying a black trash bag.
Marco watched him walk toward the bins.
He almost laughed.
Fifty-four years.
A secret son.
A rival family.
A hidden adoption.
And the first moment Marco DeLuca would speak to his brother involved garbage.
Marco stepped out of the car.
“Daniel Brennan?”
Daniel stopped.
“Yes?”
Marco walked closer.
Daniel looked him over with the cautious expression of a man who knew this conversation had not happened by accident.
“My name is Marco DeLuca.”
Daniel waited.
Nothing.
The surname meant nothing.
Marco had not expected that to sting.
“I think I have something that belongs to you.”
Daniel glanced at Marco’s empty hands.
“What?”
“A letter.”
“From who?”
Marco swallowed.
“My mother.”
Daniel frowned.
“I think you have the wrong person.”
“I don’t.”
Marco took the envelope from inside his coat.
Daniel looked at it.
He did not reach for it.
“Who is your mother?”
“Elena DeLuca.”
“No idea who that is.”
“I know.”
Daniel’s expression hardened.
Marco understood.
A stranger appeared outside his home claiming a mysterious woman had written him a letter.
It sounded absurd.
“Were you adopted?” Marco asked.
Daniel went completely still.
Marco immediately knew he had crossed something private.
“That’s none of your business.”
“You’re right.”
Daniel stepped backward.
“My parents are dead. If this is some kind of scam—”
“It isn’t.”
“Then explain.”
Marco looked toward the house.
A woman moved behind the kitchen window.
Daniel noticed.
“Not here.”
Daniel folded his arms.
“You came to my house.”
“Fair point.”
Marco held out the envelope.
“Your biological mother wrote this three days after you were born.”
Daniel stared at him.
For several seconds, he did not move.
Then he looked at Marco’s face.
Really looked.
Something shifted.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Marco DeLuca.”
Daniel repeated it quietly.
“No.”
Marco waited.
Daniel’s eyes narrowed.
“How do you know when I was born?”
“Because my mother gave birth to you.”
The trash bag slipped slightly in Daniel’s hand.
He set it down.
The ordinary evening around them seemed to disappear.
Daniel stared at Marco.
Then at the envelope.
Then back at him.
“Who are you?”
Marco had prepared explanations.
Dates.
Names.
Rose.
Margaret.
Thomas.
He used none of them.
“I’m your brother.”
Daniel’s face emptied.
Marco added, quietly, “Half-brother.”
Neither man moved.
The dog began barking inside the house.
May you like
Daniel looked toward the sound, then back at Marco.
And for the first time in fifty-four years, Elena DeLuca’s two sons stood face-to-face.
